I wrote this when it was dull and grey,
Overcast thought's broke through the day.
It's not often it goes away.
Seems today is one of those day's
It hasn't really gone away,
It's covered by a world of dreams,
With the probability that it brings.
Of the reality of the day,
Poetry is sacrament,
Filled with the cander
Of many different ways.
Where the writer takes,
grammar doesn't matter
The writer of poetry
Always finds a away
Poetry is the food of thought,
Feeding your consciousness.
With a misplaced thought, seldom
taught, Before it leaves your mind.
Wether your under the weather,
Or under the sun,
Let's find some fresh poetry,
And let the fun begun.
Sorry I meant begin,
Poetry by Alan J Ripley
Read 16 times
Written on 2026-08-03 at 18:23
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Overcast thought's broke through the day.
Not much sun today
There's not much sun today,It's not often it goes away.
Seems today is one of those day's
It hasn't really gone away,
It's covered by a world of dreams,
With the probability that it brings.
Of the reality of the day,
Poetry is sacrament,
Filled with the cander
Of many different ways.
Where the writer takes,
grammar doesn't matter
The writer of poetry
Always finds a away
Poetry is the food of thought,
Feeding your consciousness.
With a misplaced thought, seldom
taught, Before it leaves your mind.
Wether your under the weather,
Or under the sun,
Let's find some fresh poetry,
And let the fun begun.
Sorry I meant begin,
Poetry by Alan J Ripley
Read 16 times
Written on 2026-08-03 at 18:23
Save as a bookmark (requires login) Write a comment (requires login) Send as email (requires login) Print text
